


The Chase

by thepeskyunicorn



Series: In Heat [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5686327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepeskyunicorn/pseuds/thepeskyunicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They hadn't talk about the day after.</p><p>Or</p><p>Illya being constipated about his feelings and Napoleon knocks (or kisses) some sense into him<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chase

Italy is sublime at this point of the year, with its sky a brilliant blue and clouds barely obscuring the sun, as Napoleon lounges on the balcony chair.

Their pick up at Taiwan had gone without a hitch, with Napoleon smelling of satisfaction and Illya radiating protectiveness as he fit a hand low on Napoleon’s waist. Gaby had quirked a smile at them, but said nothing else, except to critique the driver of the beat up mustang they were in on his poor maneuvering skills.

They hadn't talk about it the day after. Napoleon could barely stand upright without him sweating like a hooker in church and leaking through his sixth pair of underwear. Waverly had took a look at him during debriefing at HQ and sent him off, giving him a week's rest and benching him until his heat is well and thoroughly over. And if he noticed Illya hovering possessively over Napoleon’s shoulders the whole time and the way he practically growled at anyone who gave Napoleon a second look, he doesn't let it show.

Napoleon isn't particularly bothered about Illya's overwhelming presence. The man had always had an instinct for protecting those he valued most and Napoleon's heat scent must have put it into overdrive. He did slip a finger under Illya's sleeve to stroke over his pulse, soft and barely there, trying to calm him before he does anything drastic. It works, and Illya's scent lightens, going from overbearing and heavy to partly soothed, still with that low, animalistic thrum that is uniquely him.

The resulting week is a blur of sex that passes way too quickly, with Illya fucking him on every available surface of his house, even on the loveseat which promptly broke and in the ridiculously large walk in closet he managed to build one weekend. He discovers that Illya likes to cage Napoleon in, chest to his back, and that Napoleon really likes it when Illya fingers him until he forgets his name. Napoleon is also pretty sure they ruined some of his best suits, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

As he was barely coherent and out of his mind with lust during the entire duration of the heat, he's certain that any conversation they had weren't any more complicated than grunts, moans, and various words commonly used during sex. He, however, noticed that Illya had taken great care to hydrate him hourly as well as cook several meals a day to keep him fed. He remembers, in one of his more lucid moments, both them in bed, sunlight filtering in through the curtains and the room heavy with the smell of sex, feeding each other toast in an achingly romantic manner. Illya's eyes were startlingly blue and his smile lighting his face makes him look younger, and Napoleon was struck by how, in another life, Illya could have led something resembling a normal life, with a wife and child and blissfully oblivious of all the pain of the world.

Illya had left immediately after Napoleon’s heat ended, leaving only the faintest trace of alpha mask and a hole the shape of a certain Russian giant in Napoleon’s heart. Napoleon guessed that Illya actually took the time to clean the house and cook up dinner while he was passed out, thinking that Napoleon would probably like to be alone to recuperate. He was partially right; Napoleon needed the space to think about the past week's event and more importantly, to mope, but it still stung to have Illya thinking that he is not wanted in Napoleon’s life.

Nonetheless, he reported bright and early to work the next day, only to have Waverly throw them into a recon mission on an arms dealer in Italy. Personally, Napoleon thinks that there probably aren't any case dire enough to let them handle at the moment, but Waverly would rather them do something than nothing at all. Idle minds and all that.

The mission is easy and boring, as predicted, and they had absolutely nothing else to do for the rest of the week, having swept the hotel and the surrounding area that their target is staying in earlier that day. Gaby had gave them both kisses on the cheeks before running off to the nearest beach, ready to get her tan back and to feel the sun on her face after spending too long under the dreary London skies. Napoleon had opted to stay in, and Illya had given a noncommittal grunt, turning back to his chess game with intense concentration.

Not as intense as he believes, then, Napoleon thought as he stretched in his seat and tucked his hands behind his head, smiling as a familiar scent drifted into the balcony. He feigned ignorance, lying back to admire the view of the sea from their hotel, marveling in the way his body is so desperately in tune with Illya's.

Illya comes to stand by the railings, back to him, but Napoleon couldn't help but notice the way he angles his head towards him. So maybe he's not the only one affected by the week's event.

"You've been avoiding me," Napoleon asks casually, preening a little as he sees Illya turns his head further to scan him. There's appreciation and hunger and sadness, but those lovely blues were flickering away in a flash.

"I am not avoiding you," Illya's voice rumbled, the first time he's talked to Napoleon in over thirty hours. "We are in same flight and room. That is not avoiding."

Napoleon sighed. "Not what I mean Peril." He directed a meaningful stare at the side of Illya's face. "You said we would 'talk about it in the morning'. That was two weeks ago." He could see Illya shifting awkwardly, a rare sight for someone once ran across ice to chase down a terrorist without twisting an ankle.

There's a long silence, and then Illya's deep voice saying, "I am sorry, Cowboy."

"Sorry?" Napoleon sat up. "What for? That was the best night of my life."

Illya whipped around, suddenly furious, hands balled into fist, scent curdling. "What for? I took advantage of you! You were not in right mind. Not a that night, not that week, and certainly-"

"Not now?" Napoleon cuts in smoothly, eyebrow raised. "Am I not in the right mind as of this moment? And what if I told you I was perfectly clear of what i wanted then, two weeks ago, the entirety of last week, the whole of two and a half years we were working together, and now? What if i said that? Would you still be taking advantage of me?"

Illya stares, fingers twitching and breathing erratic as he tries to understand. “You don’t mean that.”

Napoleon stands, chancing a step forward to smooth his palm over Illya’s fists. “I do. And if you don’t believe it,” he leans in close, leaning his face against Illya’s throat. “Then I’ll just have to say it again and again until you do.”

Napoleon feels Illya freeze, nervousness and disbelief commingling in his scent, unable to comprehend his words. But there is the light sweetness of hope surrounding him, and Napoleon ghosts his lips over the column of Illya’s neck, feeling him shiver despite the afternoon’s heat. “You make me happy, Illya,” he confesses, voice soft, words whispered into skin, letting it dissolve and spread. “You make me feel loved and safe, even at my most open.” He could feel Illya relax, inch by inch, and he welcomes the heat of Illya’s palms covering his. Napoleon is not used to giving others ammunition to hurt him, unused to giving them glimpses that he is human after all. But this is Illya, soldier, friend, and partner. The man he trusts his life with. "I want this. I want you."

A finger under his chin tilts his head up, and then Napoleon is staring into Illya’s eyes.

“May I?”

Illya’s voice is strangely hushed, his fingers slightly trembly, and his eyes a minefield of emotions Napoleon would usually run away from. But then he thinks about the way Illya tucks him under his chin, arms around his body, and the way he brings in homecooked food and feeds it to Napoleon with such intensity; the way Illya smells like home and belonging that no one else does, he gives in. Throws himself off the cliff, eyes shut, arms open, freefalling into open space, trusting Illya to catch him.

Illya did, as he always does.

The fit of their lips together is a revelation and a homecoming all at once, and Napoleon could almost weep from just how much he needed this. He pushes through, tongues tangling, trying to convey words he cannot say. I want you. I need you. I may be in love with you. And Illya reciprocates, giving as good as he gets, fitting in between the space of his lips like he never left.

They pulled apart, more of necessity for air, and Illya chases after Napoleon’s lips, letting out a disappointed whine as Napoleon laughs. Hooking his arms around Illya’s neck, he bumps their foreheads together, grinning at the sight of his dilated pupil. Someone’s excited.

“Say, Peril, how about we get a little exercise while we’re here,” Napoleon suggests, voice lowered into a purr.

Illya’s eyes narrowed, trying to read Napoleon’s intent. At the sight of his sly smile, Illya shakes his head. “No, I will not do the Chase.”

Napoleon pouts. “Why not? It’ll be fun. And afterwards, when you catch me, you can throw me over your shoulders and carry me back to the hotel to show me how strong you are.” Trailing a finger appreciatively down Illya’s chest, Napoleon could see his idea take hold.

“We will draw attention. The target will notice.” Illya countered, voice rough and unsteady.

“He won’t suspect two men partaking in mating rituals, Peril,” Napoleon give in to the urge to kiss Illya, tiptoeing to press a peck on his lips. “All the more reasons to do it.”

Napoleon could almost taste the moment Illya makes his decision, the air thickening with anticipation and pure animalistic instinct, the beast in Illya out to play.

“As you wish Cowboy.”

Napoleon smiles, triumphant. Swaggering into the hotel room, he collected his jacket and key, throwing a salute over his shoulders. “Let’s see if you really are worthy to be my mate.”

He could feel Illya chuckling behind him, rich and warm, as a turns the corner to make his way down the fire exit, already tingling with anticipation. Being pursued is usually not his favourite position but with Illya to catch him, he’s more than willing to make the sacrifice.

**Author's Note:**

> The song inspiration for this is 'kill of the night' by gin wigmore, which is quite suited for both of them, really.  
> Also, this fic may not be as porny or good as the previous one and I apologize:(  
> [tumblr](myskittlesexploded.tumblr.com)


End file.
